A Thousand Lines of Poetry
by ShadowDanseur
Summary: Not a poem. Just a one shot, written from Mulder's point of view as he looks at and thinks about Scully.


**_Author's Note: _I have no clue where this idea came from, it just kinda blind sided me. Just a little piece of fluff - I don't feel like I write a whole bunch of fluff, and it's kinda nice. It's written from Mulder's point of view. I apologize ahead of time for any errors, I didn't proof read this before posting. I just typed it out and posted. Hopefully it's not to bad. Also, I remember Mulder saying in one of the episodes that he's red/green colorblind, a fact that I always forget, so in this one I kinda played with that a little bit. Anyway, let me know what you think. Enjoy!**

**_Spoilers:_ None. It's not really set at a certain time.**

**_Disclaimer: _Not mine. The character of Sue is all me though. Not that she has a really big part. :)**

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Scully has tiny shoulders. I've been watching her for the last fifteen minutes, although I know there is something else I should be doing, and that's the conclusion I have come to. She's a small woman, and her shoulders are tiny; they don't look like they should be capable of withstanding the enormous weight I know they hold. The one thing I have learned over the years, however, is that looks can be deceiving - and with Scully, there is no truer adage.

She's completely engrossed in whatever report she's busy typing up at the moment, her eyes fixed intently on her computer screen. I don't know how she's able to concentrate on things like that; I get bored so quickly that I've stopped trying. Not to mention that even when I do try and whip up the reports, she'll find something she doesn't like and redo it all anyway. So I'm just saving us both time, really. Well, whatever she's doing has her attention so wholly that she doesn't seem to have noticed that I've just been staring at her, unmoving. She'd probably make some smart ass comment if she caught me, or just roll her eyes, but I don't care. I can't help it - she's like a force of nature. I seem to gravitate toward her unknowingly.

This whole week has been crap, and it's only Thursday. It's been one of our rare weeks, the kind with no cases and plenty of downtime. I don't do well with weeks like these; I start to get restless, and that usually only leads to trouble. I can feel it starting to settle in now, and I have to fight off the urge to squirm. It's almost noon - I have got to find something to do before I go crazy.

"Scully …" I begin to say.

"Just let me finish this sentence and save the file, and then we can go to lunch," She interrupts before I can finish

I can't help it. My mouth hangs open just enough, and I can feel my eyes get a little wider. After all the years we've been working together, she still manages to surprise me. How did she know that I was going to suggest going out for lunch? I know she thinks I'm joking when I say it, but I really do think we have some sort of unspoken communication thing going.

"Okay," I finally say

I stand and retrieve both of our jackets from the coat rack just inside the door. I can hear her closing out the windows on the computer, and then she is standing next to me. I'm helping her into her coat automatically, the same as every other day. We have a ritual, Scully and I, a method to our madness. I don't know when we adopted this ritual, or when I started to think of it as such, but I also can't remember when we didn't have this ritual.

"Where were you thinking?" She asks as we make our way to the elevator

"I hadn't thought that far ahead really," I reply honestly, "How about the bistro? We haven't seen Sue in awhile."

She nods her head in agreement as we step into the elevator. About eight months ago we found this little bistro about two blocks away from our building, nestled between a coffee shop and an antiques store. I don't know if it has a name, the sign on the awning just says "Bistro" in big letters. It's a small place, but the owner is a really sweet middle aged woman named Sue. There for awhile it seemed like we were in there for lunch every day, so Sue got to know us pretty well. We're even on a first name basis. I've never mentioned it to Scully, but I really like sharing this with her. I like that we have a "lunch spot", where we know the owner personally. It reminds me of something a normal couple would do.

The elevator doors open and we are molding into the mess of other agents and secretaries scurrying back and forth. Unconsciously, my hand drifts to its resting place in the small of Scully's back as I guide her through the crowd toward the door. She shows no sign of even realizing that my hand is there - just another part of our strange little ritual. It's so normal for us. It reassures me, to have this small amount of physical contact with her. After all the times she's been taken from me, kidnapped and otherwise absconded with, I'm kind of a stickler about having her near me. Not that I would ever let on to that in front of her - she'd probably whoop my ass. So I'm careful not to say anything, and she never objects. I can feel the eyes of other agents following us, though, and I watch her face carefully for any sign of discomfort. She shows none, however, so either she doesn't notice their looks or she doesn't care. I may the taller of us, and outwardly the more formidable looking, but Scully is the ring leader of this circus. I don't care if they all stop and stare, but if she's uncomfortable, the hand gets taken away. That's just how it goes.

Once we're out into the brisk midday air, I drop my hand. It's much less crowded out here on the street, and I don't want her to think I'm lingering. Not that I don't want to linger - I would leave my hand in the small of her back all day if I thought she would let me. There was a sense of comfort and familiarity that came with the action.

It's a nice day for early April, just warm enough to make a two block walk refreshing instead of uncomfortable. There's been light cloud cover off and on all day, and the sun suddenly breaks out from behind one to shower its light on us. The whole city seems to brighten up as the rays crash and bounce off the glass of nearby buildings, and I can see the light catch in Scully's hair. Without thinking, I sigh aloud in longing.

"What?" She asks then, noticing my errant sigh

"Nothing," I say immediately

She gives me that look. The I - know - it's - not - nothing look that I've seen more times than a hundred people could count.

"I was just thinking about how much I would like to be able to see the color red," I admonish, catching a strand of her hair between my fingers

I'm ready for the derisive snort, or the rolling of the eyes, or some other outward sign that she thinks I'm being ridiculous. It's true though - just once I would love to be able to actually see the color of her hair.

"Does it really bother you?" She asks

I hesitate before answering, searching her face. There's no irritation in her expression, only a look of curiosity. I wonder if she forgot I was red - green colorblind? It's not something I mention a lot, so it would make sense if she had.

"Only sometimes," I reply, shrugging and releasing the lock of hair I'd taken hostage. We start walking again, although I hadn't been aware that we'd stopped.

"Have you always been red - green colorblind?"

Nope, she remembers.

"I don't know, actually. I think so. I never really cared. There was nothing red that I wanted to see, or cared to look at."

"So then why does it matter now?"

"I wish I could see the sun in your hair," I say in a sheepish rush, feeling like an idiot for saying it out loud. I should have just made up some stupid lie, or joked and bluffed my way out of it. I was good at doing that, so why had I decided to tell the truth suddenly? She was going to think I was crazy, or maybe sick. I kept walking, not glancing over to see her face. I was hoping and praying she'd just let that comment go and forget that I said anything.

"Can you tell the difference?" She asks, apparently not mad at my comment, "Whether the sun is in my hair or not?"

"For the most part. It's lighter when you're in the sun. There are less shadows."

Just then we're walking into the bistro, and Sue is looking up from wiping off a table and waving to us with her friendly smile. Thank God for the distraction - it's only a matter of time before I say something that's going to upset her, and it's been such a peaceful week.

"Hey, Sue," I greet the woman, "Sorry it's been so long."

"I was starting to get lonely," The other woman joked, leading us to our usual table, "Been busy?"

"Off and on," Scully replies, "Mostly paperwork."

"Well it's good to see you guys. You having the usual?"

"Yes, please."

Sue bustles away to prepare our lunch, leaving us to out quiet little table. There's only one other couple in the little restaurant, and some soft music playing from the radio at the counter. It's a peaceful setting, one that I hadn't realized I'd missed. Across the table from me, Scully is quiet but not discontent. She seems to be fairly at ease, and the knowledge relaxes me. I don't know when I started to do it, but my mood rests around hers, like a mist that molds itself around an island.

"You okay today, Mulder?" She asks then

"Yeah," I answer, a little surprised at the question, "I was getting a little restless in the office."

"I should have figured, but you looked fairly calm. I think you sat there without moving for at least fifteen minutes, which is no small feat for you."

I know she's teasing so I smile at her. She doesn't mention anything about the fact that I had been staring at her for those fifteen minutes, so I hope that she didn't notice. Or at the very least, that she didn't ask why. What would I say? 'Sorry, Scully, I was musing over the petite size of your shoulders?' That sounded ridiculous even in my head, but it was true. I still had a hard time accepting that such a slight woman was so … unstoppable. I meant no disrespect by it; it was merely that her size made me want to protect her. Even if I didn't know her, or care about her the way I did, I would immediately feel like I should protect her. It had taken me awhile to realize that she could take care of herself.

Sue came back with our drinks: two ice cold glasses of Iced Tea. She made small talk with Scully for a minute and then disappeared again. I watched her go, and then another thought struck me. I must be in a weird mood today - I was flirting with potential disaster.

I reached out and slid my hand under the cross hanging at her neck, and act that caught her attention and stilled her movements. We sat there like that for a few seconds, my thumb brushing the golden cross at her neck.

"Do you remember the first time you called me Fox?"

Why did it matter? I don't think I thought this all the way through. What a strange time for me to ask that question … But she must be in a good mood, because she apparently decided to play along.

"You said 'If there's an Iced tea in that bag, it could be love.'"

"It was root beer."

I don't know if I sounded disappointed or not. I hadn't meant to, but I thought I could detect an under current of it in my tone. I let the necklace drop and leaned back in my chair, afraid of what other crazy impulsive thing I might do or say. Apparently restlessness had decided to manifest itself in a different way today.

"What brought that up?" She asks

"Not sure. I saw the iced tea Sue brought us and it just kinda popped into my mind."

She laughed, and the sound caught my attention. Such a light, musical sound. I wish I heard it more often - it's a rare treat when Scully laughs. At least it is for me, anyway. I love that sound; I wish I made her laugh more.

"You're in a strange mood today, Mulder."

"Sorry," I mumble, unsure what else to say

"Don't apologize. I didn't say it was a bad mood, just strange."

Apparently she's in a strange mood today, too. Normally I would expect my left field questions to get at least an arched eyebrow, but not today. No, today she seems content to just go along with me. That piques my interest, and I find myself watching her again.

Scully is amazing to watch. Even when she's not doing anything, even when she's at rest. Just the way she moves, like liquid grace, is enough to awe me. She never seems to fumble; she's always steady, and constant. Always sure of herself and her actions, never indecisive or uncertain. At least, that's how it looks on the outside anyway. She's a thousand lines of the most beautiful poetry, whispered into life on the words of angels. She's the guardian of all that is good in me, the breath in my lungs and the beat in my heart. She's everything I didn't know I needed, and all that I never knew to ask for. My deepest desire is to one day be able to tell her all of these things, to let her know how utterly and irrevocably I am hers. She is my soul mate.

Sue is suddenly putting our sandwiches on the table then, and I notice that Scully isn't looking at her, but at me. She has the strangest look on her face, simultaneously tender and curious, and for just a second I am terrified that she really can read my mind, and was privy to the little gush of emotion I indulged in just then. The moment passes, however, and she arches her eyebrow at me as if to ask what I was thinking. I just grin and reach for my plate.

She's strong, my Scully. She can deal with a lot; but she's not ready for that talk. Not yet. One of these days she will be though, and I'll be ready and waiting. Until then, I can wait. Like I said, she's the ringleader of this particular circus.


End file.
